


If You Call Everybody Darling

by PeggyPincurls



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Peggy Carter Lives, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8051119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeggyPincurls/pseuds/PeggyPincurls
Summary: There was always a second where Steve gave himself away by looking shocked that anyone had caught on to his mood--which was always broadcast across his face and stance like the digital infocrawls in Times Square that had so fascinated and terrified her upon her arrival.  
That made it worse, of course, when he tried to bluff.





	If You Call Everybody Darling

**Author's Note:**

> These stories, I am realizing, are sort of based on a little game I play with a friend in which we come up with "slice of life" scenarios in which all the Avengers characters live and play and have wacky hijinks. Some examples are: Spider-Man bootlegs "Age of Apocalypse" before it comes out on DVD, Steve disapproves; Howard the Duck shows up unexpectedly and Clint, startled, shoots an arrow into the wall, parting Steve's hair right before a date with Peggy and angering Pepper, who makes him spackle it while Natasha chides his sloppy aim ("It was a _talking duck_ , Tasha. A talking duck who _doesn't even live here_ "); Tony putting an abacus app on Steve's mobile to help him calculate tips when taking Peggy out to dinner; Pepper gifting Peggy with a vintage hooded dryer to make her feel more at home, only when she unveils her surprise Bucky is already beneath it reading a cookbook; he throws a handful of foam rollers at Pepper and makes his escape. 
> 
> Stuff like that. :)
> 
> Mostly, these are silly, but some of them do actually become real stories.
> 
> Here's one.

_You call everybody darling  
And everybody calls you darling too._

_The Andrews Sisters, **You Call Everybody Darling**_

**

"Damn, damn, damn," Peggy swore. "Honestly, Tony, you have developed the strictest anti-virus software in the country, was there really a need to give me a bloody Mac instead of a PC? I'm having enough trouble with this as it is."

She wasn't really talking to Tony, who was in fact not in the room; she was alone in her office and simply grousing for the sake of it, but someone heard and came running anyway.

"Peggy?" Pepper Potts peeked her strawberry-blond head around the doorframe, pushing the swinging door to Peggy's office inward (Peggy did not like that the door swung both ways, despite the fact that it latched and was as secure as any door in the place. Tony had been promising to get someone to replace it, but Tony had the attention span of a goldfish when it came to that sort of thing and had to be continually reminded of his promises. She assumed Pepper would be the one to eventually get to it). "What's the matter?"

Feeling slightly foolish, Peggy sighed. "Every time I click the mouse button, my desktop slides to the side and is replaced by a background picture of Tony taking a selfie, and all my icons disappear. I am positive he installed that background on purpose to irritate me, and I cannot get my desktop to reappear unless it is by accident. When I do, it just happens again five minutes later. I need the desktop backgrounds to stop switching places, or I need a desktop background that isn't Tony taking the piss out of me."

Pepper's pretty face lit with a smile; she walked over to the desk and leaned closer to examine the computer monitor. "I'll talk to him. You have to treat him like he's a kid--he's just looking for attention. You know he thinks the world of you."

Peggy grumbled, swiveling her chair to give Pepper room to work. "That is so bloody like his father I feel like I'm in a time warp. Again."

Pepper's smile became more affectionate, but she wisely did not offer patronizing comfort, rather turned her attention to the computer. "OK. The desktop is switching backgrounds because you're leaning on this section of the mouse--I know, it's super sensitive, and totally annoying, but if it happens again, just hit the escape key and your desktop will come back up. In the meantime..." A few clicks of the mouse and the background photo of Tony taking a selfie faded away, replaced by an image that was far more welcome--a candid shot of Peggy and Steve dancing at a charity fundraising dinner thrown by Stark Industries the previous month. Pepper looked pleased with herself. "How's that?"

Remembering that dance made the last irritations of the day melt away, and Peggy felt a smile of her own curve her lips, realizing it was quitting time and she wanted to see her Captain. "Brilliant. You're a wonder, my darling," she said to Pepper. "I don't know how anyone ties their boots in this place without you."

Pepper beamed, and Peggy felt glad she had given the compliment; however fervently Tony's heart acknowledged Pepper's usefulness, Peggy had a feeling his mouth and brain often forgot to do so. "Happy to help. Need anything else?"

"Yes, that you please go do something for yourself for once, for the love of hell," Peggy instructed. "You don't have to babysit me, I can break this thing just fine on my own."

Pepper laughed and pushed through the swinging door into the hallway--or tried to; the door smacked into something solid and there was a muffled "Ooof!" from the other side. 

" _Oh_! Oh my god," Pepper said, pulling the door back again and admitting the person she had bumped--Steve, who was rubbing a red nose and snuffling adorably, like a puppy fighting off a sneeze. Peggy smiled up at him, but he was preoccupied with wrinkling his nose and didn't return the expression. 

"Steve! I'm so sorry," Pepper said, brushing nervously at his sleeves as though that would somehow improve his bruised nose. "I didn't know you were coming in."

"No harm done, Pepper," Steve said cheerfully. "Super soldier, remember? That includes the nose."

"Don't let Tony get a hold of that one," Pepper said dryly. "You won't enjoy the jokes."

"Hello, Steve," Peggy said, happy to see him. As the days grew cooler and autumn approached, Steve had begun developing a sweet habit of swinging by her office when he himself was about to leave. More often than not, they would walk back to their apartment together, strolling like two young lovers instead of two battle-scarred soldiers, sharing stories from their day and simply enjoying being in each other's company.

But now, he glanced at her as though he was only just noticing she was in the room, as if he had forgotten his reasons for coming here. "I'm sorry," she prompted gently. "I lost track of time. Were you waiting on me?"

"Don't let me tear you away from your work." A frown line appeared on Steve's brow; his voice was uncharacteristically flat. "If you're busy, it's not a big deal."

"Nonsense," Peggy said, a little surprised by his dismissal. "It's nothing that can't wait."

Pepper was glancing back and forth between them as though she were watching a badminton match, except that the birdie was something that didn't belong in the game--not necessarily a grenade, but perhaps a rubber chicken or something that just wasn't ordinarily supposed to be there. 

"Have a good night, Pepper," Steve said politely, turning to exit the room. Behind his back, Pepper mouthed _What's wrong?_

Peggy gave a barely perceptible shrug before Steve could catch sight of the exchange, then realized she was going to have to sprint to catch him up--he was already down the hall, and hadn't waited for her. 

That day the walk was not a leisurely stroll; Steve's pace was brisk, and in a few intersections Peggy found herself hurrying to keep up with him in her heels. Had he wanted to outdistance her he could have done so easily, but it was not as severe as all that, just fast enough that she realized he was walking simply to get from point A to point B. When she asked him how his day was, he put her off with a few vague, distracted answers until they reached their building and she gave up in defeat.

**

It didn't improve as the evening wore on. Steve was very quiet throughout a reheated supper (Steve had grown up poor; leftovers were not something that ordinarily bothered him, but the clink of fork against plate suggested that he was pushing the food around as opposed to eating it), and she caught him sighing through his nose frequently--a sign that he had something on his mind. As he was setting the table and then later while putting away the dishes, he had slammed the silverware drawer, making the spoons shiver audibly. While washing up, she heard him curse--a rarity--as he knocked a bottle of aspirin out of the medicine cabinet; she heard the staccato tap of the pills as they bounced into the sink. 

She drifted towards the bathroom in her nightgown and peignoir--after her bath, she had unconsciously put on one of his favorites, but he appeared not to have noticed--but Steve was already striding out with a stony expression on his face. They collided in the hallway, and Steve's hands on her to steady her was the most he'd touched her all evening. 

"Sorry, Pegs. Didn't know you were on your way in." 

"I heard you drop something. Are you all right?" she asked carefully, reaching up to cup his face and swipe her thumb over his cheekbone. He closed his eyes, tensed as if he would nuzzle into the caress, his usual response, but remained still. 

"Yeah, just--that damn cabinet is too small. You know me, I take up too much space." He tried a smile, and it wasn't even close to succeeding.

"Come to bed," she said softly, and hated how much it sounded like begging. 

Unbelievably, he shook his head, shrugging off her touch. "I've got some stuff to do. Don't let me keep you up."

Unsure what exactly he could have to do that was pressing enough to keep him up when he'd spent the night pacing and muttering, she tried to keep her rising fear out of her voice.

"Steve," she said quietly, "is something wrong?"

He shook his head, and seemed to know better than to try the smile again. "Just tired. You go on. I'll be in in a little."

Peggy realized slowly that her feet were not moving because she did not want to go to bed without him; she had to do so often enough when one or both of them were deployed and it seemed ridiculous and wasteful to do so when he was there--when he was _home_ \--but something in his tone made her wise enough to see it would not be worth pushing him on it. 

She dozed fitfully, waking up often, and it was only as she rearranged herself after yet another toss-and-turn that she realized she had drawn something into the crook of her arm. 

It had actually been a gift from Pepper. One of the bigger things that drove Steve crazy (and amused Peggy) about life in modern times was _merchandising_. Captain America napkins. Captain America bathrobes. Captain America jackets. Captain America home decor. Clothes with his shield screen-printed on them. Toys--action figures sculpted in his likeness, tiny vinyl caricatures of him and the other Avengers (and even one of her; Steve would not permit her to purchase them, but if she were in a store and saw them on the shelves she always rearranged the little boxes so that she and Steve were side by side). Throw pillows and towel sets emblazoned with one of his uniform insignias. Wall hangings with quotes that had come out of his own mouth on them (Steve staunchly refused to have any of those in their flat, not even for a lark). And all sorts and conditions of things shaped like his shield--area rugs, coasters, bookends, frisbees, earrings, pendants, wallets. Steve's reaction to most of these things was embarrassment, but Peggy had helpfully pointed out that the shield had become a symbol and it was a symbol, she assured him, of something good. He had seemed to like that, but had still frowned when they had taken a long-overdue, blissful weekend minibreak and he had caught her brushing her teeth with a child's Captain America travel toothbrush, complete with protective cap shaped like the shield. 

What she currently had nestled in the crook of her arm was a Captain America plush toy--stitched out of soft felt, with blue button eyes and flaxen hair that looked frightfully real--and for whatever reason Steve did not object to it, allowing it to sit on her bureau. Perhaps because it had been a gift, or perhaps because it looked so small and sweet--which reminded Peggy so much of the Steve she had first met that she had warmed to it immediately. 

She had seen the toys in passing in shops, seated on shelves besides equally adorably goofy-looking Iron Men, purple archers and gods of Asgard--the Hulk had been her favorite, as he was bigger than the other toys, with comically gritted teeth, but her most victorious appraisal had been saved for the little black-suited spideress with frightfully real-looking, shining red hair. She had smiled at the toys, but she had not purchased one because of Steve's incredibly negative (for Steve, anyway) reaction to any merchandise with his shield or face on it--this toy had both (the little felt shield had Velcro on the back so the toy could wear it on his back or his arm, where there were corresponding pieces of Velcro, something Peggy had found delightful). 

There had, however, been a week in which Steve had been deployed and his contact had been sporadic; when she had gotten the opportunity to speak with him his voice had been tinged with physical pain, exhaustion and homesickness. While it had warmed her heart to be considered "home", hearing her beloved sound so utterly knackered and being unable to hold him and soothe that away had worn on her. She had slammed drawers, spent a lot of time on the gun range, and been very short with a terrified SHIELD trainee who, it had been reported, looked up to her intensely, having been brought up on the legends of Captain America and Agent Carter. Receiving a rebuke from Peggy had been tantamount to receiving one from God, and the poor girl had dropped a file in her haste to escape in shame, only to trip over it and smack straight into the door she had been trying to exit through. Peggy had felt instantly guilty and had personally walked the poor thing to the infirmary, sitting with her and chatting until the girl's nose had stopped bleeding. At the end of it the admiring shine for her hero had been back in the girl's eyes, but the damage had been done; the whispers started among her inner circle almost straightaway: _I think Peggy's upset._

It hadn't been necessary to ask why, which was good because no one, with the possible exception of Tony, would have been brave enough to ask, let alone voice it. The final word, however, had come from Pepper; when Peggy had reached her flat that evening, the plush toy had been sitting with his back to the door, an index card in his lap, bearing a single line in Pepper's round, Palmer-method script:

_Sometimes it helps._

At first Peggy had smiled at the toy but dismissed the idea, until around 3 AM when there had been no word from Steve and she had curled herself around the little felt Captain, burrowing under the duvet until her whirring thoughts had sunken in a deep, indigo blankness for the remainder of the night. It occurred to her to wonder if Pepper had a similar ritual with one of the small, silly plush Iron Men; the note had suggested that the answer to that was yes. 

She didn't remember taking the toy into bed with her this night, but all the same, there he was, the soft flaxen hair brushing her cheek every time she shifted in restlessness, waking to realize Steve had not yet come to bed. 

The final time she stirred was when he finally did come in, and she woke from a prickly, dreamless gray anxiety to feel him gently disengaging her arms from her toy. Blurry-eyed, she watched him place the little felt Captain back on her bureau, sitting the toy up the way she always did, and she thought well on him for not simply tossing his plushy rival aside. But these thoughts were quickly swept away by relief as he curled himself around her, pressing a tender kiss to her bare shoulder before burying his face in her hair with a barely audible sigh. His arm wrapped protectively, possessively around her, and her hand dozily found his, opening and pressing over his knuckles until she drifted back off with the comfort of his solidity at her back and his warm breath on her neck. 

Still, in the daylight, he was brisk with her--not curt, but brisk, almost chilly. He had always been professional with her in the office--such as it was an office--but this was excessive, and the others were starting to notice. 

It had been going on four days when she decided she had had enough. When Steve wandered into her office around midday she was ready for him. 

"Want to get lunch at that cafe around the corner?" he asked.

"We could," she said smoothly, leaning back against her desk. "Or, you could get over yourself and tell me what's been bothering you."

There was always a second where Steve gave himself away by looking shocked that anyone had caught on to his mood--which was always broadcast across his face and stance like the digital infocrawls in Times Square that had so fascinated and terrified her upon her arrival. 

That made it worse, of course, when he tried to bluff:

"Nothing's bothering me, Pegs. Lunch?"

"Steven Grant Rogers," Peggy said firmly, "I am going nowhere with you until you tell me what is wrong. I have been over every possible scenario and can remember exactly nothing I have done to earn this treatment from you, and I demand an explanation."

Steve's eyes were frosty, in direct contrast to his usual reaction when she was strict, which invariably led to more pleasurable resolutions that the one she was currently gearing up for. "Treatment?"

"You slam drawers, doors, cabinets, you mutter one-word sentences to me, you send me on to bed without you while you stay up sulking, then creep in beside me long after I've dozed off as if you were punishing me--I have had enough," she remonstrated. "You're behaving like a spoilt pup with a spike in his paw, and I--"

" _You--_ " he interjected, his face pale despite his tone suggesting he should have blood rushing to his cheeks, and she hated it--he looked and sounded so cold, and she hated thinking of him being cold, when she had thought for so long that the glacier had stolen him away from her for good.

She waited for him to settle, and she could see him collecting his thoughts before speaking again, reining in his emotions as best he could. She held her tongue, letting him work through it, and tried to banish the thoughts of that cold wasteland, which had been the monster in her nightmares for so long.

"You called _her_ ," Steve finally said, and his tone sounded as though he'd carried some of that arctic ice back with him in his throat, " 'my darling'."

Peggy's mental roulette spun backwards over the days before finally clunking to a halt on the memory he was referring to; Steve hadn't even been in the room when the exchange in question had happened, but he had been coming down the hall, and _crikey_ o'reilly his ears were _so_ sharp. Now he stood before her with an expression that could only be described as _pouting_.

Peggy blinked; this was a turn of events she had not even remotely anticipated. She opened her mouth to ask _Did I?_ but before she even articulated the thought she realized that he was right; it had been a reflex action, something she hadn't even thought about. 

"I....well, yes, I suppose that I did," she allowed, and a brief spark of fury lit his eyes like flint against tinder.

His hands, oh those big hands that were so strong in a fight and so gentle on her body, opened and closed at his sides as if he were unsure how to vent his frustration. "I heard you. You said 'you're a wonder, my darling'."

She arched her brows at him. "This displeases you." 

It hadn't been a question, and his nostrils flared, eyes narrowing in outrage that she should not immediately understand why he was upset. " _I'm_ the only one you call yours," he said--well, "said" was putting it lightly; it was almost a growl. " _I'm_ your darling."

She blinked again. 

Laughing, Peggy realized wisely, would be an extreme tactical error. And if it got out that Captain Rogers had spent better than half a week slamming things around the office because he was jealous of an off-the-cuff remark that had held no subtext whatsoever--an off-the-cuff remark that had been made to Pepper Potts of all people, Pepper who hadn't a malicious bone in her body especially where either Steve or Peggy was concerned--no one would ever let him live it down. _Natasha_ would never let any of them live it down, least of all Steve.

Peggy decided to be grateful that her slip had occurred with Pepper and not with anyone else--for instance, Tony. If she'd committed that egregious technical foul, she'd likely have been helping Pepper requisition replacements for a lot of broken weight room equipment, she would have had to call Thor to pry a shield out of the bedroom wall, and she would have been sleeping on the sofa for a fortnight--at least--with only her little plush Captain for company. 

"You _know_ that you are my darling," she said firmly. "Steve, you _know_ that."

She had spoken to him as she would have spoken to a child, and he reacted like one--"I _like_ to hear you say it," he retorted, almost petulantly, and at once she saw the child in him; that struggling, suffering boy who had only wanted to be good and do good and had been told by the world over and over again that his efforts towards good had not been good enough. "I don't like when you say it to someone _else_."

Again, there was that wild impulse to laugh, and she could not--not with the hurt so raw and bloody on his face. She wanted to take him into her arms and cover him with kisses, and wanted equally to slap him upside the head for this utter foolishness. 

"You're aware that this is ridiculous?" she asked. "You're aware that it was a slip of the tongue, and an accident, and not done on purpose to hurt you, something I would not do for all the money in Stark Industries' bank accounts?"

Steve folded his arms across his chest, a clear indication that he was pouting and something she found adorable, even when it was in reaction to her. "I'm very aware of all of that," he said evenly, "and I have been slamming drawers and sulking because the idea that anyone but me could be your darling had my chest tight and my nerves shot. I have been sending you to bed without me so I could try to work through this and get over it without throwing the fit you're calling unnecessary, and creeping in beside you in defeat because I can't stand not sleeping with you in my arms no matter how upset I get at you." His arms fell to his sides, strong shoulders slumping till he raised them in a weak, halfhearted shrug. "I love you, Peggy."

Her words remained sharp but her voice was far gentler as she explained, not without a hint of amusement, "You are acting like an ass."

He almost smiled. 

"Steven Grant Rogers," she said, and now the amusement was overlaid with mock severity, but still audible beneath it, "I commandeered a plane to send a stage performer on what up until that moment everyone else in the world would have considered a suicide mission. I kept the only remaining vial of a super soldier's blood safe from those who would have used it to do evil. I have founded an agency to uphold the morals and ethics that super soldier held highest during his service, and I have traveled _through time_ to work for it now, getting shot at, driving in high-speed chases, and engaging in political fencing, along with picking up your bloody socks and making sure the bed is made up with clean sheets. I did that--I _do_ that--for _you_. I can think of no one else I would ever expend such effort for. And if that does not make you the love of my life, then I can think of nothing that would, my darling."

Steve had begun looking slowly but steadily happier during this speech; his eyes had brightened at the sound of the endearment, although the smile did not reach his lips. His expression was one of carefully guarded hope. "Peggy. Say it again for me?"

Red lips curving in the affectionate smile she saved only for him, Peggy obeyed, repeating, 

"You are acting like an ass."

Finally, he laughed, unable to help himself any longer, and the smile that broke out on his face was his real smile, open and sweet and perfectly lovely. Peggy opened her arms, and he went gratefully into them.

"Yes, come here, you great foolish thing," she murmured, and then he was kissing her, and it was like all those frosty nights had never happened. Somewhere in the middle of it she felt herself being lifted as though she weighed nothing at all--one of her favorite things about this modern setting was he was more used to his strength than ever and she thoroughly enjoyed the occasions he exercised it--and set on the desk, his leg nudging hers apart so he could step between them and pull her to him. Peggy pressed her knees against his hips and he made a pleased sound deep in his throat, his tongue forcing her lips to open. 

"I thought you were hungry," she said, a little breathlessly, although she was in no mood to stop this pleasurable reconciliation--and _there_ , there was the heat in his eyes that so excited her as he murmured, "Oh, yes," and tangled a hand in her curls as he kissed her fiercely again, his other hand caressing her thigh, teasing just beneath the hem of her skirt, finger tracing the strap of her garter. (She still insisted on them, wanting the familiarity, and Pepper had been more than happy to oblige her during the initial outfitting of her "modern" wardrobe. It didn't hurt, of course, that the first time Peggy and Steve had been unable to deny themselves an impromptu tryst any longer, he had been _very_ adamant in his desire for her to leave the garter belt on.)

They argued very rarely--there had been far too much time spent thinking they would never see each other again for them to take even a moment of time together for granted--but no one was perfect; there was the occasional spat such as this one. Peggy had taken the early position that she was going to do her best not to fan the flames of Steve's temper. Keeping cool was a far better way to deal with his occasional ire, especially if it were as childish (if adorable) a tantrum as this one. The strongest emotion she felt for him was and always would be love; she would try not to give him cause to associate her passion in regard to him with anger. 

But it was passion nonetheless, and it was getting more difficult by the minute to keep the steely control she refused to relinquish until she was sure the matter had been truly settled. 

"I'm your darling," Steve said, a rough purr that made it clear it was not a question; Peggy smiled against his neck, letting him feel her lips curve in amusement, knowing she was smearing lipstick on his skin. 

"Yes, we've established that," Peggy teased, and a smirk threatened Steve's face, his eyes smoldering in a way that never failed to thrill her. 

"OK, but I haven't established that _you_ are _my_ darling," he said--oh, that seductive tone sounded so out-of-place and yet so exciting coming from the man who had told her he didn't know how to dance. "Let me..." and then his hand slipped down, drifting almost innocently to stroke behind her knee. Peggy's breath hitched. 

It was not an accident. Steve's fingers were gentle as they probed the crease behind her knee, but he only ever touched her there when he had loving on his mind--his hand would slide possessively around to the back of her knees, pulling her legs apart as he knelt between them, the unspoken entreaty-- _give yourself to me, let me kiss you there, let me please you_ \--thrilling her almost as much as his soft lips and skillful tongue, until she was shuddering and moaning with both the aftershocks of her pleasure and the anticipation of having him inside her when he was ready to abandon himself to his own passion. And when he was inside her, their bodies entwined, his low whine of wanting muffled against her shoulder or swallowed by her kiss, he would slip his hand behind her knee and tug almost desperately, urging her leg higher on his hip, compelling her to wrap herself even more tightly around him. Then the unspoken words were of a sweeter, more innocent nature-- _hold me, come closer, I want to be close_ \--and that coupled with the intensity of his lovemaking would push her over the edge, her nails digging into his strong back and his every muscle locking as he spent for her with a quiet, sweet sound of ecstasy, only for her ears.

"Oh," she breathed, unable to keep herself in check any longer, " _Steve._ "

Almost languidly he nipped at her neck, then set his mouth against the place his teeth had scored, soothing the small pain away with wet kisses, sucking gently at her skin. It would leave a mark, Peggy's conscious brain reminded. She would have to powder it, high-collared blouses, leave her hair to lie on her--oh, _Steve_.

She speared her fingers through his shorn hair, tugging gently to keep him where he was. His hand smoothed up her leg, brushed against the lacy edge of her knickers; she made a soft pleading noise as his fingers explored beneath the fabric, so good but not enough, not nearly as much as she needed.

'What'll it be, Peg?" he murmured playfully against the shell of her ear, his fingers pushing the the lace aside to slip shallowly, teasingly inside her. "Coffee, tea, or me?"

"Latch the door," she whispered. "Bloody thing has a double hinge, if you remember."

He kissed her temple and moved to obey her. "Be ready when I come back?"

She was more than ready and he knew it, the cheeky thing, but she didn't have the strength to frown at him; instead she made the requested adjustments to her clothing and reached out as soon as he returned to the desk, hooking her fingers in the waistband of his pants and pulling him to her. Steve hissed at the strain this put on his unsatisfied body, and when she reached for his belt he tried fumblingly to help her until she laughed against his lips. He whined with impatience but let her steadier hands do the work, unbuckling and untucking him. When they joined, that was homecoming; she closed her eyes and just held on to him for a span of seconds, feeling complete once more. Steve exhaled, a long, shuddering breath, and she knew he felt as she did.

"Darling," she murmured, and that broke the spell; he caught her mouth with his and began. 

Much better than arguing, oh yes. His hands were on her hips, steadying her, fingers gripping through the skirt that was bunched up to give him better access to her body and yes her darling was good at this, so good, so good she wasn't sorry she had told him to latch the door, wasn't sorry to take him here despite how improper it was, hadn't wanted to wait until they were home, because coffee-tea-or-him the answer was always him, him, him _oh, Steve--_

"Oh--my-- _darling_ ," she gasped aloud as he brought her closer, oh, so close and he redoubled his efforts at the sound of the endearment from her lips, as if he were reclaiming it--and perhaps that was what this dalliance was about to him, his injured ego prompting him to prove with his body that he deserved to be her darling. He gripped her waist and pulled her to him, the change in angle enough to send her to completion with an almost surprised cry of delight.

He held her as she rode out her passion, shuddering in his arms, and he did something bold and rough she hadn't expected of him--as she broke, he tangled his fingers in her curls and pulled her head back, not allowing her to hide her face against his neck or shoulder, the way she so often did when he brought her. His eyes were sleepy and hot with desire as he watched her face, watched her shatter for him, and just as she was coming down, he bent his head and sealed his mouth over hers with a slow, passionate kiss. Still unsteady from her orgasm, she groomed his tongue weakly with her own and felt him throb inside her; he was always diligent about making sure she was sated before pursuing his own climax. And if more often than not she found herself rising to a second (or third) orgasm when he abandoned himself to his own pleasure, well, he was just that good. _They_ were just that good, together. 

She rolled her hips almost languidly, arms draped around his neck. Steve, unsatisfied yet, grit his teeth on a moan and held her tighter, fingers pressing into her in a way than was not unpleasant. She undulated again and this time he assisted her movement, hands sliding to her hips and pulling her greedily where he wanted her. She inhaled sharply, sensation rippling through her already-overstimulated anatomy, and Steve whined and thrust again, his movements more urgent as his control slipped.

"Yes, that's it," she whispered. "With me this time, darling. That's right."

As always, the encouragement electrified him; all she could do was hold on tight as he set a wicked pace, chasing his pleasure with every twist and flex of his hips. He was kissing her, his tongue in her mouth paralleling his movements inside her, and she never wanted to fight again, never wanted to be apart, never wanted to hurt his feelings, just wanted to be his Right Partner, be his pleasure and his happiness for all the time they had left. 

"Peggy, I...Peggy..." he panted, and she wasn't sure if he was trying to tell her he was sorry he'd overreacted, or tell her he loved her maybe, and it didn't matter because he was her darling and she was his and so she kissed him, felt him tense and then shudder as he surrendered, his eyes clamping shut and his lips uttering a soft, sweet sound of completion.

"There, there," she soothed as he chased his breath, resting his forehead against hers. In the beginning, she had been concerned at how spent he seemed in the moments after he shattered, but she had come to realize that, like everything, lovemaking was something he he applied himself to with all of his effort and focus. She had come to treasure how sweetly bewildered and breathless he was when he finally gave himself over to their shared passion, holding him close to stroke and soothe him as he settled down in her arms.

When he had calmed, she patted his shoulder affectionately, and his smile was sweet and shy as she briskly helped him sort himself, buttoning, zipping, smoothing, then saw to herself. As soon as skirt, garters and knickers were back in their proper places he stepped right back into the cradle of her thighs, arms winding around her as she pressed her knees against his sides playfully. He nuzzled fondly into the juncture of her neck and shoulder and she knew that the fight was over--if it had ever really been a fight. She felt her heart swell as she marveled, as always, at the contrasts of him--his gentleness despite his strength, his desire to please despite his ability to lead (oh, his reactions to being praised during lovemaking were intensely satisfying), and most charmingly, how much the mighty, unbreakable super soldier liked to cuddle, especially after loving. 

"You're my darling," she crooned, petting his hair, and his grip on her tightened in triumph. 

Now that he'd proved his point, Steve seemed shy, as if he were embarrassed by his own loss of temper. "And you're mine," he murmured against her neck. "I love you, Peggy. No one's as special to me as you are, and...I don't want anyone but me to be that special to you."

She stroked a soothing line up and down his back. "Darling, no one could be," she told him softly. "I wouldn't have driven just anyone back to camp that day."

He smiled a little--he seemed to like those nods to their shared past, even in, especially in this bright and dizzying future--but then nuzzled her almost bashfully, as though he were trying to hide. "You saw me," he whispered. "You...really.... _saw_ me. I...I don't want you to look at anyone else that way."

Her heart ached for that struggling, suffering recruit, who had wanted so badly to prove he was the man she now held in her arms; she pressed a kiss to his brow. "I see you, darling. Shhh."

They stayed there like that for quite some time, and never did go to lunch. They made up for that by placing a large takeout order that evening using a mobile phone app (Peggy was growing increasingly fond of such apps, and was amused by the idea that she was becoming a little spoiled). This was eaten on the sofa instead of in the kitchen, their legs stretched out, feet propped on the coffee table, Peggy tucked against Steve's side as he playfully stole portions of her meal while she pretended to try to fend him off. Best of all, Steve retired to bed at the same time Peggy did for the first time all week, winding her comfortably yet hopelessly in his arms and pressing tender kisses to whatever bare skin he could reach, a sweet, contented smile on his face as they drifted off to sleep.

**

As a result of her...conversation...with Steve, Peggy had missed a sparring session that she had had scheduled with Natasha. In truth, she could have made it, but she had refused to give Natasha the satisfaction of seeing her show up late and disheveled, hair mussed, smelling of sex with her lipstick worn away. Rather, she had simply sent a message with a vague apology and a request to reschedule. Natasha had been amiable to this--a little too amiable, which led Peggy to believe she had known all along the reason she had been stood up and found it amusing; Peggy did not like the idea of that, but could think of nothing to do except bluff it out. 

"I sincerely apologize for being late for our workout," Peggy told Natasha as they wrapped their hands, the tape making a rough purring sound as she pulled it from its roll.

"No harm done." A slow smile curved the spy's perfect lips. "I figured you were working out with Rogers."

The elastic Peggy was attempting to tie her hair back with snapped, and she muttered a curse. "I hope you know I wouldn't be so rude as to simply abandon a workout with you in favor of one with Steve, or anyone," she said evenly, feeling called upon to defend her manners (and to distract Natasha from her train of thought).

But Natasha would not be distracted, especially not when she knew she was correct. "I didn't say that. I just figured you two...worked it out."

Peggy unsuccessfully fought a blush, but said nothing. It was useless trying to hide anything from Natasha, and what did it matter? She didn't seem at all perturbed about having been stood up the day before, and when she said "no harm done" it was likely she meant it. 

"I'm glad," Natasha continued. "I was afraid I was going to have to stage an intervention if it kept on much longer."

"Intervention? Whose side are you on?" Peggy chuckled, despite the "argument" between her and Steve having been resolved in a most pleasant manner. 

But Natasha didn't smile; her eyes were thoughtful and steady as she answered, "Maybe...his."

Peggy blinked. She was not angry, rather interested to hear the line of reasoning behind this. "Really."

"I get it," Natasha said casually, shrugging. "Sometimes you can't explain why something rattles you."

"If I ever see anything rattling _you_ , I shall call both of the two local newspapers and tell each one that the other one is running the headline," Peggy joked.

Natasha, nonplussed, graced her with a sharklike smile. "Like I said, I get it. Overheard Barnes calling someone 'bae' once."

Peggy snorted; she found the term silly herself, but then again she found most terms of endearment to be silly, and only remained fond of the one insofar as it elicited a positive response in Steve. She tried for a moment to imagine something as silly as Bucky Barnes using a term such as "bae", given that it would likely sound as out of place on his lips as it would on hers or Steve's--that seemed far more likely to be overheard from someone like Clint--but something else became apparent to her and her smile faded.

"When...when did you overhear that?" she asked, shaking her hair back and trying to keep her voice steady as they took their places on the mat to begin.

"Oh...it would have been a couple of weeks ago." Natasha's voice was silky; she knew exactly what Peggy was thinking, and did not refute it. 

A couple of weeks ago, Barnes had emerged from a sparring session with a nasty black eye. 

It became suddenly apparent to Peggy that Natasha had not overheard Barnes calling "someone" a silly term of endearment. She had overheard him calling someone _else_ a silly term of endearment.

"Seems to me you were able to figure out a better way to deal with it, though," Natasha added cheekily, pivoting her feet for a frontal assault. "Maybe I should ask you for pointers."

Later, Peggy would reflect that responding to this with an arm bar might have been a little excessive, but only Natasha could laugh at a person who had her in a painful joint lock that sometimes ended with the recipient needing surgery, then escape the hold, which was a feat in itself. Barnes had known exactly who he was messing with.

**Author's Note:**

> I sort of do want to write that foam-roller thing for Barnes, though. 
> 
> If you've read this far, cheers! I appreciate it.


End file.
